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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162188">The sound of the divine, the sound of the broken, a perfect symphony</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOccasionalSquirrel/pseuds/TheOccasionalSquirrel'>TheOccasionalSquirrel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Immortals with a whole lot of issues, the least of all being their mortal lovers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allura (Voltron)-centric, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, Feral Allura (Voltron), Greek Romelle (Voltron), Hunters of Artemis, Lesbian Romelle (Voltron), Persephone makes an appeareance, one is feral and one is a huntress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:26:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23162188</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOccasionalSquirrel/pseuds/TheOccasionalSquirrel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And this is how the first vampire was created-<br/>not with witchcraft, not with desperation,<br/>but with a kiss, with adoration.</p><p> </p><p>Society just doesn't appreciate women going feral enough</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Allura/Romelle (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Immortals with a whole lot of issues, the least of all being their mortal lovers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Mist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>not to get too deep but to be a daughter is to be caged, just like</p><p>aren't you tired of being nice? don't you just wanna go apeshit?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It wasn’t death, it was torture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was sunlight for food and air to drink. It was bare ribs and hungry moans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a cage. It was chains. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman made of shadow and claws and bloodthirst. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wake up,”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman made of blood and bones and desire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wake up,”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh Kore, your likeness was born in far off Egypt, but she came to Greece anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wake up,”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh Persephone, your likeness wears chains as jewelry, your likeness is a commodity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wake up,”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman covered in tattered clothes and prayer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when mist hides the stars and it becomes night, the woman’s prayers come true. The breaking of her chains is the only sound, but still she knows to follow. The sound of the divine, the sound of the broken, a perfect symphony.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All is silent, even her own steps. In a darkness so thick it’s suffocating, she still follows, she still walks. The only thing she knows is when her feet leave stone for grass, and grass for soft earth and tree roots.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is the first word she’s heard in months- maybe years. It brings her forward, and her body remembers what it means to be scared. Her mind remembers what it’s like to inhibit a body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What she doesn’t remember, is her own name.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Panic grips at her bare neck, and she feels a lump rise in her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears well up and threaten to spill past her red, blotchy cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” the voice repeats, softer this time, and the woman’s hands freeze where they’d curled up around her scalp.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are like me,” the voice is soft as it continues, and all the panic the woman felt melts away. Lightheaded from relief she stumbles, but steady arms catch her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes her a moment too long to realize that the arms belong to the voice, and that the voice belongs to another woman, and that the other woman is not a woman but a goddess. Too long, indeed, to avoid the goddess’ gaze. Too long to save any semblance of human in her left.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So pretty,” the goddess sighs, her hand softly grazing the woman’s cheek. “And so bloodthirsty underneath.” The goddess quietly moves the woman’s hands out of her long, white hair. She cards her hair through the woman’s long white locks, her hair brighter than a star, purer than snow. The woman had not known tenderness, the goddess realizes, had not known a gentle touch in a long, long time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the goddess cups the woman’s cheeks, shows her the kindness she wishes she was shown. She leans in, ambrosia-golden lips touching human-red ones, and kisses her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Freedom, anger, strength. All those desires the goddess had buried deep within herself. In the night, where hidden things are safe, she gives them to the feral woman who will know to use these gifts well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The goddess separates from the kiss, her lips black as ink before they are hidden by the night, her hands still gently cupping the woman’s cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go, be feral, be free,” she whispers and drops her hands, and the woman-but-not-woman is left alone, her new, sharp teeth digging into her bottom lip until it bleeds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blood, she knows, as it trickles past the corner of her mouth and down her chin, blood is what she feasts on now. No more sunlight, no more air, simply blood and the dying breaths of despair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman-but-not-woman started her hunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And this is how the first vampire was created-</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span>not with witchcraft, not with desperation,</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>but with a kiss, with adoration.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Forest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the lesbians meet</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>What was once a forest—the forest, everyone’s forest—now became her forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was a wild thing, an immortal thing. Neither goddess nor woman, neither ambrosia nor water. Her song was the hunt, and the forest was her home. Undisturbed, she reigned alone as Queen, but then the humans came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of the humans smelled human. They all had a breath of the divine in them, just like the strange woman who’d kissed her—who’d freed her—settled somewhere at the bottom of their lungs. And the Queen of the forest knew this, felt this, as she stalked them through her forest during their hunts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were clumsier than her. More careful than her. But still, they never grew hungry—she could tell, for not once have the hunters that roamed her forest been weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen was a good huntress as well, but the humans... The humans had soft cheeks and kind hands and were tender—she’d forgotten the word and it’s meaning before she saw the humans—but they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>tender</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They seemed loving, but the Queen, in her fascination, had forgotten they were hunters, too.  And as she stalked a particularly gentle hunter—their long black hair like ink and their olive skin beautiful in the midnight—did she stumble into one of their traps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call of the wilderness screamed her name as she thrashed in her bindings, but no claw could rip her out as she was, tied up and hovering above the ground. Swinging like a leaf in the gentle wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this wind howled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d alerted the hunter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen of the forest felt their steps still and then turn. Quietly, oh so quietly, the hunter began to move towards her. She thrashed until her hair fell over her face, and she helplessly, hopelessly, growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunter approached her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now that they were so close, the stench of the immortal became nearly unbearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gasped, and the voice was so soft, so human. The hunter gently moved a couple of her white locks out of the Queen’s face, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh how the Queen’s heart ached for even the shadow of a touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was as if the hunter knew what she craved, for they moved their calloused hand over her cheek, and tilted their face up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Queen, the wild thing, the woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call of the wilderness quietened for once, and that only at the sight of the beautiful huntress before her. With hair like black ink spilling down one shoulder, and kindness written all over her face like a love song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” the huntress said, her sharp gaze softening, “you’re beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was something beautiful in her, too. The former-queen felt overwhelmed to see someone as lovely up close, but she couldn’t look away. The huntress, who looked like every other woman in Greece, whose only notable characteristics were the muscles in her forearms and violet, violent eyes, was more beautiful than any goddess, let alone the wild woman she’d captured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me help you out of there,” and true to the huntress’ sword, the ropes were cut away and fell as the huntress held the woman steady as her feet fell to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman was taller than the huntress, lithe rather than strong, quick rather than patient. The huntress’ eyes glowed bright as the woman fell into her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile curled on the huntress’ face like steam rising from a warm pot, and in that moment, the woman’s heart wasn’t a wild animal that thrashed around in her chest. It was a piece of string that tied itself around the huntress’ waist, so that they could stay close forever.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the white haired woman is allura, text me if u want a transcription of my TED talk on why vampires are the perfect predators, uh, what else what else, </p><p>comment if u have questions, i have had too many redbulls to think clearly, </p><p>wash your hands</p></blockquote></div></div>
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